The Kidnapping
by Reystro
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Captain Jack Sparrow got 'kidnapping' on his long list of crimes? Surely, Jack Sparrow couldn't possibly be capable of kidnapping... at least, not intentionally. [One-Shot]


**Author's Note: This is a story I wrote a few years ago. I tried to fix any typos I noticed, but I may have missed a few, so I apologize if I did.**

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**The Kidnapping**

_The Wicked Wench_ had been safely docked for the time being. Surprisingly, the town's dock had been vacant of people, save for a small boy fishing near the shore - who hardly looked threatening. Jack Sparrow had only visited this place once before, when he had run short on supplies a few months ago. Whitby, it was called, if he remembered correctly. It was a quiet town, a small place. Its inhabitants mostly kept to themselves and away from the outside world it seemed. This had been exactly why he had chosen to dock here: The news would have traveled very slowly, most likely reaching this place last.

They had very little time before they would have to set sail again. The town from which they had just fled would be in complete turmoil by now due to the way they'd left. Government ships would be covering the waters within hours - perhaps quicker. Jack knew it had been probably a bad idea to stop anywhere at all, even if it was here. However, they had no supplies, and it would be a long while after this before they could stop again.

"Captain Sparrow!"

Jack resisted the urge to sigh loudly. Instead, he merely rolled his eyes. Bartleby, the ship's cabin boy, was at his heels, as always. Jack frequently found himself wondering why he had even agreed to allow the boy to stay aboard after taking over the slave ship. He was simply outspoken - a little too outspoken for a boy of his standing. He was downright annoying. However, he shared Jack's views when it came to the slaves.

When Cutler Beckett had ordered Jack to use the Wicked Wench as a ship to transport slaves, he had immediately refused. Jack did not agree with taking people in as slaves; he would never allow such a use for his beautiful ship. Of course, Cutler Beckett had not been too pleased with the idea of one of his privateers refusing to follow his commands. He had ordered for the ship to be destroyed. Luckily, Jack had caught word of this before Beckett sent his men out to the dock. By the time they got there, Jack was gone, along with the ship that had been previously docked alongside the Wicked Wench, heavy with slaves ready to be transported.

Jack had set them free.

It had been a fairly simple thing. The dock's guards weren't exactly the brightest. Besides, who were they to think Jack had any intentions other than to follow Beckett's orders? They had not heard the dispute between the two men about the slaves. There was only one man aboard the ship. The East India Trading Company did not expect slaves to be smart enough to find a way to escape, even with only one man aboard their prison. This was what had angered Jack the most: They had instilled so much fear into these slaves that even though they outnumbered the crew members by nearly one hundred to one, they did not even think of trying to escape.

"For God's sake, what is it, lad?" Jack demanded, turning on his heel to face the young cabin boy.

Bartleby merely stared up at his captain, wide-eyed, for a few moments, his words suddenly lost in his throat. This had happened quite a few times: The boy would speak out of line, unable to control his tongue, then he would realize shortly after exactly what his place was. He would then become nervous, fidgeting and wasting even more time trying to find his words again. Sometimes - during the lucky days - he would simply quiet down and not say a word. Today, however, Jack was not quite so lucky.

"I - I - My apologies, Cap'n." His words came out in short, hesitated sputters. "It's jus'... I hardly think this is a good idear, is all. What if we're too be seen? What if Beckett should be after us at this very moment?"

"My dear boy," Jack started, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes once more. He fell into step beside the boy, putting an arm around his frail shoulders lazily. After making sure the boy was not watching him, he cast a wary glance at their surroundings. Funnily enough, there were no civilians anywhere within sight. It was perhaps... _too_ quiet. He shook this thought away and continued speaking. "You give far too much credit to the East India Trading company and its sailors. It will take them quite a while before they can gather up enough men to hunt us down safely. Alas, this is the last place they'd look. We've at least an hour before we need worry about their arrival in this quaint little town."

"Aye, sir." Bartleby nodded. "But... why did you tell us all not to be seen then, sir? If it's not too bold to ask."

This time, Jack did roll his eyes. As the cabin boy, Bartleby should know these sort of things already; should know what Jack's plans were even before the rest of the crew did. The boy followed him around enough to catch on to these sort of things. But somehow, he had not. Jack wondered if he ever would, even ten years from now... then shuddered at the thought of having him around for such a long time.

"So as precaution that, should Beckett send his men to search for us here," Jack explained, "nobody'll be able to claim knowledge of our description. It will throw Beckett's men off our trail... for what trail is there to follow if there is none to follow?"

Bartleby opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking genuinely confused. Jack had not expected him to understand his words immediately; he was already used to explaining things to the boy more than twice - sometimes more than five times. As Bartleby mulled this over in his thoughts, Jack enjoyed the boy's silence.

Suddenly there were voices, coming around from the corner of where Jack and Bartleby were heading towards. Jack immediately clapped a hand over the cabin boy's mouth, expecting a loud, unnecessary warning from his as always.

"Quiet," he hissed into the boy's ear.

The boy nodded as much as he could between the captain's hand and arm.

Quietly and stealthily as possible, Jack lead the boy to the little shop that they stood closest to, behind a stack of wooden crates waiting by the door. With a silent prayer that no one would step out to retrieve these crates any time soon, Jack flattened himself against the wall as two young women walked past, chatting loudly and unknowingly of the two criminals hiding only a few feet away from them.

"I never know where that girl is," the women with the brown curls was saying. "You don't think me too careless, do you? She's nine years old, hardly old enough to be running about on her own. Mother's always telling me to keep an eye on her. I just can't seem to even see her when she goes off. It as if she has the ability invisible, I swear it."

"Not at all, Betty," said the blonde woman tersely, shaking her head. "My little Benjamin was always running off. He was only seven!"

"Yes, but he's a young boy," the other one said. "It simply isn't appropriate for a young lady to - oh!"

To both Jack and Bartleby's horror, the young women's eyes fell upon both of them. They had taken the route directly in front of the small shop with the wooden crates. Dread filled up inside of the Jack. This town was miniscule. Surely everyone knew everybody. They would know that he and his cabin boy did not belong, especially with their current state: They were dirty, sweaty, and their clothes hardly looked as if they had any sense of propriety.

The fact that they were so obviously hiding behind a stack of crates did not give them any innocence either.

The small blonde one took one second look at Jack, a small squeak escaping from the back of her throat. She grabbed her companion's wrist and turned to run. It was a instinctual reaction. Two young women walking alone on a deserted road, suddenly walking upon two strange men. Jack could not have expected any less. And, as the two women sprinted away, screaming what he assumed was their husbands' names, he already desperately tried to think of a plan.

They were too far from the ship's docking place to run back the way in which they came. They would have to find another way. Halfway without thinking, Jack pushed open the door to the shop, dragging in Bartleby with him, who had been trembling in fear as soon as he'd realized the women's eyes upon him.

"Cap'n-Cap'n, I don't think we should - what on earth are we doing?"

"Hush, lad," Jack said, shutting the door quickly behind them. His eyes roamed the strange room.

It was almost bare, as if it were abandoned. Abandoned buildings were the last thing Jack had expected to stumble upon in this town. Papers scattered the floor. Some blank, some with scribbles of black ink. Old furniture was pushed up against the wall, looking considerably unused.

What an odd place to walk into, Jack thought to himself.

"Cap'n," Bartleby started, his voice shaking. "Cap'n - they're going to come after us. Those wom'n are goin' to alert their husbands, and who knows who they are? Sailors? Employed by the Trading Company?"

Jack did not answer him. He merely looked around the room more, trying to find somewhere to hide in case whoever was looking for them thought to look in here. He doubted they would. Only a madman would go inside the very building by which they had only just been seen. This was exactly why he had thought to come in here in the first place.

Pushed up against the corner of one of the walls was what looked like a writing desk. However, oddly enough, a worn tablecloth that looked as if it had once been white draped over it, covering half of the surface. It stood beside a window through which only small slivers of sunlight came through the dirt, dust, and grim crusted over the panes.

There had to be a back door to this place, or perhaps a window to crawl out of. It would take them towards the other side of the town, through which Jack knew there was a way back to where they had left the Wicked Wench.

He was suddenly very grateful of the fact that he had been in Whitby before.

Then there was a noise. It was a small noise. A noise Jack wouldn't have heard had it not been completely silent. It broke through the silence so violently, like a knife cutting through the atmosphere, even though it was so small.

Bartleby and Jack both turned towards the back of the room, from which the noise had come from. They froze, not knowing what to do. Was it just the old building, or was there someone inside this abandoned place with them?

There it was again. The small, shuffling noise.

This time, however, a small tabby cat stepped out from under the dirty tablecloth of the desk pushed against the wall beside the grimy window. Jack and Bartleby both sighed in utter relief.

"It's just a cat," Jack said, almost laughing in relief. "'Ello there, kitty. Brought us quite a scare, you did."

As he reached forward to pet the cat's head, there was yet another sound. This one was louder, and what followed it was more unnerving than a small cat.

From under the tablecloth came a small head covered in soft dark curls, followed by a tiny body clad in a white dress. The little girl crawled out hurriedly, looking utterly distressed. She had large blue eyes that looked up at Jack fearfully and pale white skin. Light freckles splattered across her rosy cheeks.

"Don't hurt Binx!" she cried in her small, squeaky voice. "Please don't!"

Bartleby stepped away from the girl frightfully.

"Ohh, Cap'n, this isn't good," he said, looking around nervously. "This isn't good t'all."

"It's just a girl," Jack said. "Get ahold of yourself, lad."

He looked back at the small girl and smiled widely.

"You can't hurt Binx," the girl said bravely, sticking her chin up.

"There, there, lass," Jack said softly. "I wasn't going to hurt your cat. I was only going to pet him, that's all. Now, we'll just be on our way then - "

"Are you the ones my sister was screaming about?" the girl demanded suddenly.

"The ones your sister...?" Bartleby's eyes widened, an expression of shock and despair flooding his face.

"How d'you know your sister's screaming about us?" Jack asked, interrupting the boy's sputtered sentence.

"I heard them," the girl said simply. "My sister and Mrs. Whittington. They've told the guards, I'm sure."

"What's your name, lass?" Jack asked curiously.

"Sarah," she said. "And yours? They were saying you're pirates. Is that true? There are only two of you. Surely pirates would come in much larger groups... Do you have a ship?"

"Quite curious for such a small child," Jack muttered.

"I'm not a child," the girl argued defiantly. "Perhaps I should go and tell them your whereabouts myself."

"No, no, no, no," Bartleby piped up loudly, pleadingly.

"Listen, lass - Sarah," Jack said. "You don't seem to be an unfair woman. You're not, are you? You look fair... and very intelligent, I must add."

The girl smiled, obviously pleased with his assessment.

"We've come here for a reason," Jack continued. "Some very, _very_ bad men wanted us to do something horrible. But we didn't do it. So now they want our heads, but we like our heads very much - so we escaped. Now we're here, and we need to escape... again. Will you help us, dearie?"

She thought it over for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Well, I don't know how much I could possibly do," she said, "but there is a back door over there, behind the chairs. I go through it all the time. It leads to the back of all these small buildings. Nobody ever goes through there."

Jack smiled widely. "Aye, thank you, lass."

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"Hoist the anchor!" Jack yelled towards Gibbs as the sound of approaching angry civilians grew closer. "On with it! We've been discovered!"

Both Bartleby and his captain quickly climbed aboard the _Wicked Wench_, ignoring the confused looks upon the crewmen's faces.

"What are you all standing there for? Get movin'!" Jack roared.

At once, they jumped back into their duties, preparing the ship to sail, faster than they usually did. They had already gotten the experience of a quick getaway only a few hours before, when they had abandoned the slave ship.

"Aye, sir!" replied a few of the members as he walked past them.

Bartleby was at the captain's side once again, trembling in his wake.

"I knew this were a bad idear sir, I just knew it!" he said.

"Calm yourself, lad," Jack snapped. "We're aboard the ship, we're setting sail. They'll never catch up to us."

The ship slowly made its way through the ocean, inching slowly farther and farther away from Whitby's port. From the ship, the crew could see the town's civilians starting to gather around where the Wicked Wench was once docked only seconds before. Jack sighed in relief. They had gotten away, once again. Now all he had to hope for was his luck to not run out after this.

"You _are_ pirates!"

Jack nearly fell over with as he stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of the freshly familiar voice. His eyes shut tight, he slowly - and very regrettably - turned around. When he opened his eyes, the core of his body filled with dread, slowly spreading through him as his eyes laid upon the tiny girl that stood before him.

He closed his eyes yet again, blinking, hoping he was going mad.

However, when he opened them once again, there stood the fair-skinned girl he had only just seen moments before. Her dark curls cascading around her face. The light freckles even more apparent in the sunlight. She stood on the deck of the _Wicked Wench_, unbeknownst to the enormous trouble she had just added upon Jack Sparrow's already long list of crimes.

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